


Cigarettes and Silk Stockings

by dorkery



Series: Sankt Mariens: Prussia, Our Lady of the Land [8]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 1990s, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Bondage, Clothed Sex, F/M, Frottage, Genderbending, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-16
Updated: 2011-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-26 03:33:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorkery/pseuds/dorkery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't that he couldn't see her, it was that he <i>couldn't see her</i>.</p><p>Part of the fem!Prussia history arc, in which Germany discovers his libido around Prussia post-reunification.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cigarettes and Silk Stockings

**Author's Note:**

> Filled for the Hetalia Kink Meme. Original request: "[ **Germany does not want to have sex with his sister, so she ties him to a chair and shows him just what exactly she would do to him, while he has all his clothes on.**](http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/17942.html?thread=59253782#t59253782)" Set post-reunification.

It was one thing to finally reunite.

Those years apart had been terrible and lonely. Though finally connected to the world, he no longer had the confidence of a wiser, older, more experienced nation to help guide his decisions. He had to be independent. Part of him accepted the fact with a great burden of guilt; he had caused this distress on his own, if his actions during the war were any indication. Seizing control singlehandedly, _dissolving_ the state of Prussia, what the hell had he been thinking? As much as Prussia had publically accepted and supported any and all his decisions, he knew too well how she had hurt to suffer the indignity of a coup from the boy she had raised herself. As West Germany, he had all the time in the world to reflect on his actions in the war. He knew now what he had been ignorant of then. He felt the chill now of how mindless and obedient and cruel he had been. He promised himself that he would never force her hand again.

It seemed like centuries before the wall finally came down, but it did. He remembered too clearly how they had parted – words that stung numbly even through the haze of time – filled with hatred, anger, regret. He had refused to admit it was all his fault, but it _had been_. He knew that now above all else. He wouldn’t screw up this time. It seemed like centuries, but reunification came. They were finally together again, like they were supposed to be.

It was one thing to finally reunite.

Picking up the pieces was something else entirely.

Even though they were together again, he didn’t see Prussia as much as he’d hoped. Or, to be more honest, he found it difficult to look at her. A lot more difficult than he had anticipated.

She had grown depressingly thin, and though her spirit hadn’t died, it was hard for him to look at her and not think that she was just a ghost of her former self rather than the she-warrior who had paraded as a man and trained him to be an empire. Once they had lost the war, the world stripped them bare and finally came to know Prussia was no man. That was why Russia chose her specifically, to lock her away with him. Germany should have known _better_ than to let him do that, should have known that she had done it to protect _him_ , but they had been so full of anger than, desperate to hurt each other.

Russia forced her to dress like a woman, to look like a woman. Germany didn’t know if Russia ever touched her intimately and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to. He should have been horrified then. Now it was too late.

But she looked now a woman than she ever had. When he closed his eyes, he remembered her absurdly girlish giggles as she pressed her old king – then a prince – to her breast, specifically dressed in a sumptuous gown to be his woman when they had been young and in love. He remembered their quiet kisses under the shade of the trees and the serenades and the spats in the war room and her quietly sneaking out of bed at night to be with Old Fritz. That was the only time, he thought, that she would ever be a woman. Now, in front of his very eyes, it was impossible to see the traces of the _man_ she had been.

When they united he remembered touching her hair, grown so _long_ , brushing her shoulders. She had lost any definition and muscle on her body and it almost made Germany weep to hold her and feel the soft tenderness of female flesh against him, and not the battle-hardened body he had known for centuries. Russia had destroyed everything she had ever been and created something no one knew, would ever know.

And that was his doing.

Now there was a terrible rift between them and he felt it more than she ever would.

Once, he recalled, when Germany entered his office, he had looked up to see an unfamiliar woman half-seated on the edge of his desk, inspecting a photograph in a frame. Even though her hair and face and eyes were so incredibly distinct, it took him a full three minutes before he realised who it was.

She looked up at him when she realised he was there, slender and trim in a neat suit that he was sure the Chancellor had specifically picked for her. Sensible black shoes and a pencil skirt that ended at her knees directed his eyes as they roved up her legs. He coughed lightly and closed the door behind him, averting his gaze as he walked around to his desk.

“You cut your hair,” he muttered in a stilted attempt at conversation, briefcase open, shuffling some papers. At the pause, he glanced up at her. She had a hand by her neck, fingers lightly tracing the tips of her cropped hair, longer than she usually wore it but definitely no longer _long_.

“Does it look strange?” Prussia asked.

“No,” Germany said hurriedly. “It’s very flattering.”

“All right,” Prussia said, giving him an odd look before they began talking about initiatives to stimulate the economy in East Germany.

He felt like things would never return to the way they had been.

Beer with friends, not an unfamiliar concept in the least, but Germany was startled to find that he hadn’t indulged in that since the end of the war (and Reunification didn’t count). He had worked the years away in an attempt to drown out his feelings, compelled to force himself away from happiness. She was suffering and it was only _right_ ; while he was living in luxury, she had to suffer the work camps and rations and curfews and censorship. When Prussia told him that ‘beer with friends’ was what she was going to do for the evening, he felt a pang, first of loneliness then of panic. He could see it now, France and Spain getting virulently intoxicated throughout the night and then running their hands up her attractive legs when she was pleasantly buzzed. He couldn’t work that night, couldn’t get the image out of his _head_ , and when dawn broke, he felt dead, dead and thoroughly dead.

“Breakfast,” she poked her head into the study, where he had fallen asleep at his desk. “I made bratwurst and potatoes.”

“… What time did you come home?” He asked, following her into the kitchen.

“Dunno. Late.”

Germany felt the tension inside him under duress, stretching like wire.

“Didn’t spend the night with your friends?”

She grinned as she tended to the stove. His heart almost stopped. He clenched a fist.

“Oh, that was the plan.”

“But…?”

“But,” Prussia shifted the wurst from the pan and onto Germany’s plate. “Dunno. Thought I’d avoid a hangover and make your ugly mug breakfast. Tea?”

“What do you mean?”

Prussia rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me you forgot, you dolt. We have a meeting, remember? Presenting a united front to the Conference of Nations as a single-”

“Of course,” Germany interjected, massaging the bridge of his nose. “Sorry. Tired.”

“Tell me about it. You didn’t even say thank you or shit for this fantastic fare.”

Germany’s expression softened and he flushed very slightly.

“Thank you for breakfast.” He dug in. Prussia sat at the edge of the counter and joined him.

Whereas normally they would have discussed current events or chores that she had abandoned for him, there was nothing but the clanking of cutlery against plates and the shifting of papers. He was reading the morning news in between bites of wurst. She couldn’t help but feel that he was doing it deliberately to avoid talking to her. Prussia finished eating before he did.

Setting her teacup down, she placed an elbow on the counter and rested her chin on her palm. She had noticed the distance between them and couldn’t, for the life of her, figure out what it was. Guilt seemed the likeliest factor, of course. He had been a right asshole when they had split up, and even before that… well, Prussia had compiled a laundry list of things he’d cocked up. Like the dutiful parent figure, it had been impossible for her to really be angry at him for those mistakes, but _oh_ how she kept note of them for future blackmail.

Working backwards, there was obviously the whole deal after the war. That was all his damned fault. Hitler became his fault too, though unfortunately Austria had been the one to supply the world with that asshole. Then there was the turning point that really soured it all: the ‘pity fuck’ he’d administered, _administered_ because she hadn’t asked for it and wouldn’t have wanted it afterwards, to her before – _before_ – he let her know that she was a _non-entity_ in Germany. She hadn’t been able to forgive him for that ruthlessness. So there was Postdam, Preußenschlag, and really, World War I, and if Prussia was going to do a count, it would likely not end any time soon.

So, guilt. Guilt was a highly likely factor.

As she uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, she caught Germany glancing at them discreetly, covering it up by reaching over for his cup of tea.

Huh.

Suspicious, she allowed her skirt to ride a little higher.

She could see him strain, forcing himself not to look away from his newspaper as he drained his cup of tea in agitation. Slightly quirking a brow, she kept watching, wondering if her hypothesis was right. The only way to find out was to test it.

“Hey, how about a quick fuck?”

He spat out what seemed like the entire pot of tea over the counter, completely destroying his newspaper. Amused, she helped him thump out whatever had gone down the wrong pipe, offering her own cup of tea to help him clear his throat. He drank it gratefully. After a while, the coughing shuddered to a halt and he was no longer on the brink of asphyxiation.

“I guess that’s a ‘no’, huh?” She asked, a grin ghosting across her face.

“Do you even have to ask?” Germany retaliated sharply, bringing the teacup down and almost cracking it. “Absolutely not!”

“Oh, come on,” Prussia wheedled with a honeyed tone that Germany had never heard before and had gone straight to his groin. He flinched violently and almost fell out of his seat when Prussia brought her foot up to nudge his crotch meaningfully. He stood up, angry and embarrassed, chair hurled across the room.

“I’m going to take a shower and we are taking the car to the conference. I won’t hear anymore of this foolish talk and you will behave yourself. If you’re so desperate then go and call your friends to deal with it,” he snapped, turning on his heel and half-running to his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

As Germany leaned against his door and slumped onto the floor, clutching his head and wondering what on earth he’d done, Prussia’s smile curved thinly and she finished her tea.

* * *

Germany felt tired. More tired in his life than he had ever been.

Ever since that day, things had gotten progressively worse. He couldn’t be in the same room with Prussia without shouting at her or losing his temper. She hadn’t reiterated the desire for sex but, considering her behaviour, he felt she may as well have. Her clothes got progressively more attractive – not unbecoming in the least, the Chancellor approved of her blooming appearance – but to Germany, everything started to look risqué on her. She leaned in closer, touched him more, slid her hands across his shoulders and along his arms, breathed his name in his ear to get his attention and he couldn’t take it anymore. He was not prepared to take their relationship further by any degree, not when there was so much to be done to mend the past.

She was mocking him. She was definitely trying to get back at him for _everything._

As he entered his home office, he sighed, leaning heavily against the door frame. He neglected to switch the light on, instead loosening his tie and tossing his blazer on a nearby chair, unable to care enough to hang everything up neatly like he normally did. He sank into his wonderfully comfortable chair at the desk, tilting backwards. All he needed was to rest a while and he’d be back into working order. He closed his eyes.

Comfortable didn’t even begin to describe it. It was soft and warm and sweet. He felt a comfortable weight on top of him, something soft pressing against him, lips kissing along his throat and hands in his hair, massaging and doing wonderful things. A soft breath of wind whispered across his face, sweet and hot and it made him stir. His head lolled to the side and his lashes fluttered momentarily. He felt fingers on his chin, guiding his mouth open which he did obediently, and a mouth against his, tongue rubbing against his, exploring gently, and he softly kissed back. He opened his eyes, vision unfocused at first, but as he woke up, everything began to click into place.

Germany froze.

He tried to take Prussia by the shoulders and push her off him, but he couldn’t. He was restrained. A quick glance confirmed that he had been tied down to the armrests of his chair and he contemplated just standing up with the chair and sliding Prussia off of him. It wasn’t a bad plan, but the desk wasn’t too far away and he didn’t want to hurt her.

“Why are you so unwilling?” Prussia asked him softly, a displeased expression on her face once she broke the kiss.

“Get off me,” he hissed at her. “Stop acting so childishly.”

Prussia tutted but complied, sitting, instead, on the desk opposite him, delicately placing a leg on the portion of the seat cushion in between Germany’s legs, inches away from his crotch. He stilled, felt himself get harder just at that, felt the wire inside him stretched beyond all mercy. He was about to retaliate when she spread her legs a little.

Prussia pinched the hem of her skirt with both hands, dragging it up very slowly, revealing inch by agonising inch of her legs. Her eyes glittered at the fact that Germany couldn’t look away even if he wanted to, and as the edge of her skirt brushed against her upper thigh and revealed her garter belts, she began undoing them fastidiously, one after the other, taking her time.

“Do you want them on or off?” She asked Germany coyly of her black pantyhose.

He swallowed thickly, finding it difficult to speak. “Please, just untie me, Prussia.”

“Aw, he said please,” she tittered and moved off the desk, standing up. “But I’m afraid you didn’t give me the answer I was looking for.”

Germany just about had a heart attack when she bent over and slid her panties off.

It was black and lacy and a thong. His mind registered this at the speed of light as she tossed it at him and it smacked him squarely in the chest, landing on top of his lap. The thought that she had been walking around all day in _that_ and those sinfully soft silk stockings hit him like a brick wall and his pants felt unbearably tight. He struggled against the rope but she’d done a good job with them. He couldn’t give in to this, definitely not now and definitely not in his _sanctuary_. If he accidentally ripped the armrests off…

“Germany,” she cooed in a low voice that shot something through his entire body like a jolt of lightning, recapturing his attention immediately. She never called him that, never in _that_ voice, and he was starting to wish that he had the strength to rip the rope off if only just to force her down on his desk, sanctuary be damned.

Prussia was merciless. She turned around, spreading her legs and sticking her ass out, sashaying her shoulders and her hips as she looked at him past her shoulders and slowly, so _agonisingly_ slowly, began to undo the buttons of her blouse. Germany bit down on his lip, clenched his fists, starting to rut a little against the seat, needing the friction of his trousers to take the edge off. She noticed, she must have, because she smiled that devilishly coy smile but she didn’t do anything. Prussia faced him again, allowing the blouse to peel away from her soft white body and fall to the floor, clad in nothing but a black lacy bra, her skirt and the stockings now. She leaned over him, a hand on the top of the chair to support her weight as she slowly ran her right hand down along her body, from the line of her neck to the curve of her covered breast, taking her time to squeeze – inducing a growl from the taciturn man beneath her – before it skimmed the rest of her torso down along her skirt.

Prussia bent lower, deliberately, dipping her breasts just in front of Germany’s face, but knew full well that his eyes were on her wandering hand that had just ventured underneath her skirt, moving higher.

There was nothing there he could actually see, but he could imagine. And when Prussia let out a shuddered gasp, he felt something inside him erupt.

She pressed against her clit with her middle finger, rubbing it in circles, moving her hand lower and gently penetrating her vagina, moving languidly up and down. Her body trembled accordingly, eyes fluttering, cheeks flushed, breath hot and short. She stretched herself apart with a moan, causing Germany to arch closer to her in response, desperate now to get off. She slowly squatted down between his legs, her groin just out of view, and pressed her palms against his thighs, sliding it slowly towards his crotch but stopping just short. With the softest of feather light touches, she traced a line down along his clothed cock and he trembled and groaned and threw his head back, on the brink.

“Don’t you want me to suck it?” Prussia whispered, licking the invisible line she’d drawn. He bucked in response “Don’t you want me to tease it?”

“Please, Prussia, let me go,” he strained. “I won’t push you away, I-”

“You’ll just awkwardly jack off in the bathroom every time I talk to you?”

“ _I want to fuck you_ ,” he finally shouted, completely devoid of shame. “I want to fuck you _raw_.”

“Where?” She was excited now, chest rising and falling rapidly, stroking his thighs again.

“Bent over my _desk_ ,” Germany said sharply. “Here. In my office. In the _kitchen_. Against the shower. On the god damned _Wall_ if I could.”

“In the Chancellor’s office?”

“Shit, I wanted to do it when he signed the damned agreement.”

“What about our Benz?”

“ _Yes_ , back seat, driver’s seat, I don’t _care_.”

She laughed softly and daintily sat herself on his lap, a mile away from his dick it felt like and it made him want to cry. She looped her arms around his neck, a finger running along the curve of his cheek and tracing it down to his chin.

“Why won’t you?”

She watched him struggle for the words, and finally, all he could manage was, “It’s so _complicated_ , Prussia.”

“I know.” She sighed despondently and that made him go a little cold.

 _Oh god_ , he thought, _oh god please don’t have screwed up._

He didn’t know if Prussia was capable of reading his mind but she sensed it somehow, sensed his unease, and then she smiled again, fondly, sending butterflies somersaulting in his stomach and forming a lump in his throat and fogging his brain and making it impossible to say anything and not sound like a retarded fool. He was too far gone. There was no turning back.

“Kiss me,” she whispered, leaning in.

Germany closed the rest of the distance and did just that. Softly at first, he nipped her lip, biting gently, kissed her sweetly, and even as she opened her mouth and let him in, he was tender and loving and slow, the way he wanted it to be always between them, apologetic for his terrible outbursts. As she cradled his head in both her hands and changed the angle of the kiss, she straddled him properly, intensifying the kiss, and suddenly they were both desperate and it was hot and unbearable again, tight, wet, unsatisfying and they were pressing against each other, rubbing, grinding.

“Untie me,” he whispered in between kisses. “I want to touch you.”

“No,” she said emphatically. “You didn’t want to, so you don’t get to.”

“ _Please_ Prussia, I beg you, I won’t behave like that anymore-”

“Hush,” she kissed him deeply, hands in his hair as she began to grind down rhythmically against his cock, moaning at the friction. They rutted against each other, Germany far more wantonly than Prussia, gasping and groaning in between kisses, unsatisfied but turned on beyond words. It wouldn’t take long at all. He swore, every word imaginable coming out in a harsh tirade until he couldn’t say anything but, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” and when Prussia moaned his name, _Germany_ , not his childhood nickname, West, he begged her to do it again. She pressed him against her breast and he licked and sucked and _bit_ , scarring her, marking her, feeling the wire snap and then she reached down and _squeezed_ , whispered his name, and he shook.

With a shuddered cry, Germany finally came, feeling himself collapse into his chair. Prussia finished herself off soon after, pulling Germany back by his hair and giving him a lingering kiss. When she broke away, she pressed close against him, chin tucked against the crook of his neck, catching her breath.

After a while, once they were much more collected, Prussia bent over to side and fished out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one and taking a slow drag before offering it to Germany, who obliged. They smoked for a little until Prussia put it out in an ashtray on the desk and stood up, pulling her panties on again.

“I’ve got a meeting in about ten minutes,” she glanced at her wristwatch as she began undoing the rope on Germany’s right hand. “So no bending me over a desk.”

“Great,” Germany said with a sigh, sounding legitimately disappointed.

“And don’t get cocky, either,” Prussia smirked. “France and Spain are _very_ good at getting me in the mood.”

“You’re joking,” he looked like he had been run over by a bus. “After all that, you’re still going to go to _them?_ ”

“I’m not going to put out if you don’t sweep me off my feet,” she rolled her eyes. “You should suffer a bit sometimes.” She fished her blouse off the floor and buttoned it up.

“Anyway, I’m going off. Don’t wait up for me tonight, I’m probably going drinking after the meeting.”

“I’ll pick you up from the conference centre,” Germany ground out, finally getting the last piece of rope off his left wrist. “And we can go to a beer hall _together_.”

“I won’t guarantee that I’ll wait for you.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll wait for _you_.”

Prussia laughed, winked at him and left the room.

Germany sighed.

It was going to be a long road ahead.


End file.
